Triopoloy
by Padfoot Reincarnated
Summary: Hermione finds it hard to be alone. She needs them both, and two plus one just isn't the same as three together. HHrR trioship.


**Okay! Here is the fic. And yeah, you know. I don't own it, that's what. Thanks to Connor Landon for doing such an excellent beta job, this probably never would have been posted otherwise!**

Hermione knew more than wizards and witches five times her age do; and far less than she would like to. She sometimes thought that even if she read every single word ever printed, and went to every country in the world, there would still be too much she wouldn't understand; too much she still couldn't reach. She was afraid of dying without ever knowing how to live.

She knows that there are three types of galaxies.

She knows there are three Unforgivable Curses (and she's performed each one).

She knows that there are three Abrahamic religions.

She knows the three underlying causes for the Mermish rebellion of 1296.

She _doesn't_ know why she and Harry and Ron fit together.

She _doesn't_ know why the tiny hairs on the back of her arms stand up whenever Ron touches her shoulder, whenever Harry pats her hand.

She knows that she has spent eleven years, eleven months, and two weeks without knowing either of them; and eleven years, two months, and five days with them.

And most of all, she knows that if she loses them she will have nothing at all.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

She was seventeen when she went on a date with Ron for the first time.

They went to Hogsmeade, and of course it wasn't the _first _time they had gone to Hogsmeade alone, but somehow this was quite different.

He took her to Madame Puddifoot's, because they both felt that as this was a Date, they should go to a Date Restaurant.

"Let me pay for your coffee," Ron said eagerly, searching in his pockets for a spare knut or two.

"That's okay, Ron," Hermione said evenly. "I've got it,"

"No, really," Ron said, his face growing redder by the second. "I'm almost sure I've got enough—just hang on a sec. I _want _to pay."

"Ron," Hermione said firmly, touching his shoulder, "I've got it."

He sank back into his seat, looking deflated. Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen such an odd combination of anger and relief on one face.

They sat across from each other at the round, pink table, accidentally kicking one another's legs. Hermione stared at the floor and Ron stared at his hands. Once, they glanced up at the same time; promptly blushed, and turned away.

The door opened, and Hermione turned to it expectantly, somehow believing that it would be Harry, coming to pull up a chair and fill in the empty space and the silence.

It wasn't, of course.

And Hermione was suddenly, irrepressibly angry at herself for bungling this so badly. Because wasn't this what she had wanted for ages? To be alone with Ron, to talk to Ron, to fall in love with Ron?

So she reached across the table and took his hand, and said something about Quidditch. And when they left, she allowed him to lean across the table and kiss her.

And all the while, her other hand was looking for someone to hold on to.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

When they finally got back to school, it was nearly midnight, and Ron went straight up to the dorms. Hermione, however, decided that she needed to study for her NEWTs before she could manage to fall asleep.

It wasn't until after she had pulled out her Ancient Runes textbook and curled up in the best chair, the one right in front of the fireplace, that she noticed Harry, sprawled out on the couch with a pillow over his head.

She rolled her eyes and went to sit by his feet, gently pulling the pillow away from his face. "Harry?" she prodded anxiously. "Harry?"

His eyes blinked open, and his mouth stretched open in a wide yawn. Hermione gave him an affectionate smile as she patted his shoulder. "Harry, you ought to go to bed," she ordered, "If you sleep down here, you _know _Colin's bound to wake you up early. And you'll get a backache besides."

He yawned again and nodded, too tired to protest. He sat up, rubbing his eyes with his hands. "How was your date?" he asked sleepily.

She shrugged. "Alright," she said, "We didn't...Well, we didn't really have to much to talk about. It wasn't as fun without you." There was an awkward pause, and she broke it by asking, "What did you do all day? Did you go into Hogsmeade?"

He shook his head. "Seamus, Dean, Neville and I had a snowball fight."

She frowned at him. "I hope you remembered to bundle up properly? And put on a dry change of clothes when you were done."

Harry suppressed a grin. "Of course, Hermione," he said. "I put on a parka and mittens and two pairs of boots and a coat, and when we were done I changed into my pink bunny pajamas."

Hermione laughed and smacked him playfully. "Harry Potter, that's enough," she scolded him. "Now, you go on up to bed with Ron."

Harry blanched suddenly and pulled away from her. "Erm, _with _Ron? As in...you know?"

Hermione stared at him blankly for an instant, until comprehension dawned. Her jaw dropped. "That is _not _what I meant, and you know it."

Relief washed over Harry's face. "Okay," he said weakly, "I just...it sounded like—"

Hermione frowned. "I said nothing of the sort. What in the world made you think of that?"

"You implied it!"

"I did _not_!"

Harry hissed impatiently, and jumped off the couch. Hermione watched him worriedly. "Wait, I'm sorry, Harry," she apologized. "Let's just forget about it, shall we?" she begged.

Harry nodded curtly, and turned up the spiral staircase to the dorms to go to sleep.

In his _own _bed, she presumed.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

She was twenty-three years old now, and she loved them both every bit as much as she always had.

They weren't perfect; she knew that, but sometimes that was hard to remember when she wokes up and Harry was curled around her one way and Ron the other, their hands are joined at her waist.

It is hard to remember when they are all waiting together in the dark, to ambush or to be attacked, and she can feel their breath on her neck and their hands on her shoulders to quell her trembling.

It is hard to remember when she sees them kissing and feels that love as strongly as if they were kissing her; because really, it's all the same thing, isn't it?

It is hard to remember when they come out of yet another battle, still surprised to be alive, and she remembers exactly why she fell in love with them in the first place.

XXXxxxXXxxxXXX

The weekend after their date wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, strictly speaking, but they'd just got news that Charlie was missing. Ginny had gone home soon as they had gotten the news, but Ron was staying at Hogwarts. The boys kept starting games of chess and Gobstones that they didn't finish, and Hermione found her eyes glazing over as she tried to read.

"This is ridiculous," Harry said finally. "We're all legally adults. There has to be something we can do to help."

Hermione closed her book without marking her page. "We _can't, _Harry," she said unhappily, her voice almost a whimper.

Harry's eyes flashed dangerously. "We can't?" he asked levelly. "Then who _is _going to do something? If they could kill Dumbledore, do you really think Charlie--" he cut himself off, eyes darting nervously to Ron. "We can't just let people do things for us for our entire lives."

Hermione hugged him tightly, then clasped one of his hands and one of Ron's. "We don't know enough to do anything," she said softly. "If we did, you know I would be there in a minute. But we don't know where he was, or who he was with, or what he was doing. We don't even know for sure if it's the Death Eaters. Maybe...maybe he just got lost somewhere."

Ron laughed hollowly. "No, he's not," he said. "Charlie's probably dead already."

Hermione gasped, horrified, and kissed the top of his head fiercely, even as she clung to Harry's hand. "Don't _say_ that, Ron," she moaned. "He's not dead, he's fine, he's fine; you'll see him again soon. The Order will find him. Don't say that."

Ron shrugged. "If you don't want me to," he said blankly.

Hermione looked unhappily between the two boys, whose faces wore identical expressions of misery.

"Look," she said, "We'll drive ourselves crazy if we just stay here. What do you say we go to Hogsmeade?" It was an indication of the terribleness of the situation that Hermione was the one to suggest it, without worry of expulsion.

"Fine," Ron said, and no one argued.

They didn't even bother with the invisibility cloak, just trudged, shoulder to shoulder, through the narrow tunnel. Ron was in the middle. Harry had an arm around his shoulder, and Hermione rubbed his back as they walked.

The ended up, as they invariably did, in the Three Broomsticks. "So sorry to hear about your brother, Ron," Rosmerta said, as she served them warm bottles of butterbeer, not bothering to make them pay. "He always was a great kid. I'm sure he'll be fine."

Ron nodded and determinedly kept his eyes on the floor.

"So," Hermione said anxiously, after they had sipped their butterbeers in silence for a few minutes, "How...how are your Quidditch teams doing this year?"

Ron laughed a little, and looked up at her with red and wet eyes. Harry reached across her and squeezed Ron's hand.

"The Cannons are doing okay," Ron said in a tremulous voice. "I think they have a shot at the pennant this year."

"In your dreams," snorted Harry, and they both burst into laughter for reasons that Hermione couldn't even begin to fathom.

So she burst into tears instead. She grabbed a hand from both of them, and pressed them all together, pressing her eyes into someone's knuckle, her nose resting on someone's palm.

It was the way life should be, she thought. So many things were wrong but they were still together, and she couldn't think of a better way to be than HermioneHarryRon. It was easier than HermioneandRon and Harry; it was the way they had begun and the way they were meant to stay.

"Hermione," Ron said.

But she shook her head, and ignoring the fact that Ron was her boyfriend and sitting right beside her, kissed them both.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

She can't sleep tonight. The old house they are staying in makes strange whining noises as the wind presses at the windows, and a pipe is dripping somewhere.

Tonight she's sleeping on one end of the bed, with Ron on the other and Harry in the middle, so it's relatively easy to slip away. She slides her arm off Harry's chest, and hops into her slippers before stepping onto the creaky floor and heading down the hall to the kitchen.

The walls are thin, and she can hear Ron and Harry talking as she makes a pot of cocoa. She can't quite make out all the words, but she hears her name at least once. So she isn't surprised when, a few minutes later, they both droop sleepily through the door. Harry enters first, stopping at the counter. Ron is directly behind him, and rests his chin on top of Harry's head upon reaching the counter.

"Why're you still awake?" Harry asks blearily. "You need to get some sleep. Got some potion in my bag if you need it."

Hermione crosses her arms self-consciously as Ron stifles a yawn. "I'm fine," she says, "Just…thirsty. Want some cocoa?"

"Hermione," Harry says.

Hermione takes a step closer to them, and allows them to wrap their arms around her. She buries her head on Harry's shoulder and wraps her arm around Ron's neck. Someone is kissing her cheek and someone is kissing the top of her head, and it doesn't really matter who, because she knows that they are there and they haven't stopped loving her yet.

"I'm scared," she confesses, looking at her toes, ashamed.

"Oh, so'm I," Ron says bluntly. "And Harry too. We all are. But it'll be okay."

And she's never been this warm, and she thinks that Ron might just be telling the truth.

XXXxxxXXxxxXXX

The next Hogsmeade visit was three weeks later. By that time they had all grown used to it; the waiting and wondering and worrying. Ron had taken over Harry's nightmares, and he was now the one who needed comforting at night.

Hermione was determined to make this day worth more than just a new place to worry. She knew that it was impossible that any of them could forget, for even one minute, that Charlie was perhaps being tortured or killed. But she thought that maybe they could enjoy themselves, a little. Just for one day. After all...it had been a month, and still no word on Charlie.

She didn't want to spend the rest of her life waiting.

So she dragged them both into the new restaurant that had opened, the Muggle Madhouse, and told them both to order whatever they wanted, her treat. And for the first time, neither one protested.

Of course, she noticed that their heads tilted together slightly as they tried to look at their shared menu. And she could do nothing but listen as they waxed on enthusiastically about obscure Quidditch players and some new broomstick that was just released.

She could have been jealous. Perhaps she should have been.

But she loved to see them happy; she loved to watch them glow. They were her boys. And being around them like this made her feel loved.

She slipped an arm around both of them, and smiled as they caught her hands.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

She has long since learned not to be surprised by what Harry manages to do.

When he found the first two Horcruxes at age seventeen, she was shocked and elated.

When he found four more at eighteen, she was proud and pleased, but not so surprised.

And now he's staring at the ceiling and telling them exactly how he plans to kill Voldemort, and she can't make herself feel anything other than scared.

"Be careful, Harry," Ron says, and it seems to echo around the room—_Be careful, be careful, be careful, becareful._

"Be careful," Hermione whispers under her breath, and no one seems to hear her.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Ever since Charlie had disappeared, the three friends had taken to staying up late in the common room, in case some midnight message was to arrive by owl or floo.

And then, one night, it _did._

They were all sprawled out on the rug in front of the fireplace, heads pointing opposite directions and feet touching. Hermione could feel Ron's toes through a hole in his sock.

There was a tapping noise at the window. Ron sprang to his feet and bolted to let the owl inside. Harry stood and helped Hermione to her feet before hurrying after Ron.

"Well?" Hermione asked anxiously as Ron's eyes scanned over the letter.

But no answer was necessary. Ron's eyes glowed brightly as a grin spread slowly across his face.

Harry whooped loudly and threw his arms around Ron's neck, and Hermione screeched and stifled a sob.

"I knew it, Ron!" she said, hysterical with joy. "I knew it, of course he's alright! He had to be!"

Ron leaned down to kiss her, still clutching Harry tightly, and she wrapped her arms tightly around both of them. Harry loosened one of his arms from Ron's shoulder and tucked it around her waist to pull her further into the embrace, and there they stood, a tangled mess of arms and faces.

And, quite as suddenly as everything had happened, they fell silent. It was dark in the common room except for the dim glow of the quickly fading fire, and the only sounds present were the sounds of their own breathing.

Hermione tightened her grip on both of the boys, and looked up to meet their eyes, one by one.

Then, feeling as if she were in a dream, she leaned up and captured Harry's lips with her own, pressing them together in a frantic kiss.

When she pulled back, Harry and Ron were both staring at her, stunned. Harry's face was a stunning shade of magenta, and Ron's ears were much the same.

Gliding forward, embracing the same surreal feeling, she stood on her tiptoes to press her mouth against Ron's. He returned it, kissing her softly. As she pulled back, she could feel two sets of eyes on her.

She ran a finger along Harry's cheek, and brought a hand up to touch the back of Ron's neck. Their eyes drifted closed, and, quite suddenly, Harry was kissing Ron's cheek hesitantly. _Is this okay?_ he seemed to be asking.

Ron answered by pressing his lips very firmly to Harry's own.

And quite suddenly they were all touching one another. Someone had a hand in Hermione's hair, and her hand was wrapped around someone else's neck. She felt her lips press against a chin, and there was a hand on top of her head and she felt Harry and Ron pressing together and she had never felt so complete.

She was seventeen and learning how to live; seventeen and it was only beginning.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

They have done this so many times before.

They stand alone at the entrance to an old abandoned manor, crouched under Harry's invisibility cloak, and the only thing that is keeping her from panicking and running is the fact that they are both near enough to touch.

Voldemort is here, nearly alone for once, attended to only by Peter Pettigrew.

Harry is trembling behind her.

She grips his hands tightly, and reaches for Ron's as well.

When the fighting finally begins, she stops worrying and lets instinct take over, as she always does. Jets of light are flying out of the tip of her wand as fast as she can think them. Ron and Harry are doing the same, but it's still not doing much good.

She hadn't expected for it to be this _hard_. Any one of them could take the rat, easily, but Voldemort's doing the work of three wizards and her hand is getting tired and it's getting harder to duck around Peter's green bolts of light.

Suddenly Voldemort's stopped, and his wand is dangling loosely at his side. "This is useless," he drawls. "I have protection of which you know not, Potter."

Harry grins fiercely and draws back his wand. "Not anymore," he says, and fires a green jet of light at Voldemort's chest.

The ancient shell of a wizard allows his face to register some shock before he topples to the ground, motionless.

He's dead. He's dead. Voldemort is dead. Hermione feels her heart might burst. She throws herself at Harry, and he kisses her and gently passes her to Ron. "Not yet," he says, turning and speaking to Peter. "We still have to take care of you."

Wormtail is panicking; his face is white and his breathing is shallow. His eyes dart rapidly back and forth as Harry advances upon him, wand raised.

Without warning, he squeaks out a spell, and a jet of green light whizzes into Harry's face.

Harry's mouth is open, and Hermione is screaming terribly as his head hits the ground and bounces once. Ron has already tackled Peter to the ground, knocking his wand out of his hand, and he's punching Peter's face, again and again, breaking his pointed nose, pounding in his teeth and eyes until his face is a bloody sore.

Hermione joins them with a savage yell, throwing herself at Pettigrew and stamping on his neck, pressing his thoat closed, watching as his face turns blue.

He's been dead for over a minute before they realize what they've done.

Hermione's never killed anyone without magic before. She turns back to Harry.

She's kneeling by him and watching Ron shake his shoulders and she wonders how in the world this happened.

She's kissing his cheek and Ron is kissing his hair and their fingers are all laced together.

Hermione thinks she feels a curtain falling behind them.

She is twenty-three years old and learning how to die. Twenty-three years old and everything is ending.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

It is sunny the day they bury Harry.

In Hermione's opinion, the sun should never be allowed to shine on funerals. It makes people too happy. It makes them forget.

She doesn't want anyone to ever be happy again.

Ginny's daughter is playing with a stuffed lion, and laughing, and tugging on people's legs. Hermione wants to scream at her.

But she doesn't, of course. She stands with Ron at the head of the casket and it is _her _job to listen to people offer stupid, shallow condolences.

She feels an almost irrational anger when people who Harry never knew begin trickling in through the back door.

There is a mother clutching the hands of two children, and a man so old he can barely walk. There is a group of teenagers who probably aren't even out of school, and two men sitting quietly at the back.

She wants to chase them all away. They don't know Harry. They never knew Harry. All they have of him are stories and myths, half of which aren't even true. And now they want to take this last bit of him and make it their own.

But she looks at the first few rows, and sees faces that have never looked more miserable. Remus Lupin, Luna, Neville, Tonks, a brood of red-headed Weasleys, Seamus, dozes of faces she can't put to names. Even Draco Malfoy is there, and has the decency to look miserable.

She passes through the ceremony in a daze, and before she knows it they are outside. There is a hole in the ground and that is where they are supposed to put Harry.

It's sunny, but it's cold as well. She pulls a pair of gloves out of her pocket, but Ron is holding her hand, and he is keeping her warm.

Her other hand is still cold and bare, though. She slips it into a glove, and it doesn't feel anything when she pricks it on a rose from the wreath of Harry's casket.

"Hermione," Ron whispers. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," she says harshly. And it's true. She hardly feels anything at all.

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